the day has worn me
i place my hand on the beam
of this attic room
and imagine the wood
split from a ship
broken
to frame the land
delineating
ours
from theirs
unlike the strut
we saw in the abbey
constructed
as a joke
an insistance
or both
suspended by the beams
it purports
to support
winking the sliver
of air at its base
like god
not quite
touching
the earth
Filed under: free verse, antiquity, continuity, God, poetry, posession
This is good. Really good.
Thank you :-)
love it, phil. i feel the atmosphere of the room i know so well when i read it ….
Hi Jo. I’m glad you like it, and thank you so much for making us feel so welcome in such a beautiful home.